


In Plain Sight

by Lilou88



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Risk of being caught, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 15:52:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1863552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilou88/pseuds/Lilou88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boredom at Alistair's coronation banquet prompts Tabris to scheme an excuse to make herself scarce, one which Zevran is all too happy to assist with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Plain Sight

**Author's Note:**

> This is, much as I may be blushing for even considering posting this, my first attempt at anything remotely related to PWP. Originally a challenge from Shink (shamelesslothario) over in the Dragon Age RP community on Tumblr, I was prompted to write about my Warden, Revka Tabris, giving Zevran some special attention in a semi-public place. Now I'm putting it here in the hopes that you all will like it, even though I'm about ten shades of red at the moment.

 

 

 

The main hall of Arl Eamon’s estate has been transformed overnight, drab tapestries and benches replaced by endless garlands of rich fabrics and lavishly set tables waiting in preparation for the banquet soon to come. In one corner a violinist and cellist play a light and perfectly respectable tune, their music kept low as the background to the hum of polite chatter buzzing through the whole of the room. Waiters bearing trays of delicate hors d’oeuvre weave in and out through the crowd of well-dressed aristocrats, their porcelain smiles hung perfectly in place. It is, by any discerning noble’s standards, a truly magnificent celebration for the new King Alistair’s coronation.

Unfortunately, Revka is no such discerning noble. The decorations are fine, yes, and while the sentiment is most certainly begrudging, she must admit herself glad for the chance to dress in something more elegant than her old leathers. Still, if given the choice between a second fight against the archdemon and spending the rest of her afternoon here, suffering the flattery of simpering highborns wishing to wrap their bejeweled fingers about the newly hailed “Hero of Ferelden”, she would not hesitate to throw herself headlong into the dragon’s mouth.

In honesty, her wish for an escape from the cloying scent of perfumed bodies and pompous self-importance is what puts the idea in her head in the first place. That, as well as four glasses of sweet Orlesian merlot and a train of thought which refuses to stray from certain… _deviant_ inclinations. Due, of course, in no small part to the influences of a certain Antivan elf. Hidden away in her corner it is all too easy for her to plot out her plan, and before either the first hour of the event can pass or her wine-fueled courage can dim she has pushed herself into reckless, determined action.

Pulling Zevran away from the hall is a simple enough matter. An excuse of some urgent business requiring their attention is all that is needed to convince the lord she finds him in half-hearted conversation with, and while Zevran meets the pointed look she gives him with an arched brow he makes no protest at being summoned away. She gives a nod in the direction of the nearest exit before turning on her heel, a spark of heat flaring into life in the bottom of her stomach as she leads him out into the quite of an abandoned side corridor.

She is on him the moment the door closes behind them. Fingers twisting into the fine silk of his tunic, she pushes him back into the shadows of a nearby alcove, a little thrill shooting through her at the startled noise he makes when his shoulders fall against the wall with a quiet _thud._ Head cocking to one side, his eyes find hers in the next instant, and that same spark shoots through her again to see that while there is no doubt surprise in his gaze, it is the sort quickly followed by a wicked grin.  
"My my," he says with a low, knowing laugh, "I see we’re feeling adventurous today. Tell me, what do you suppose our Alistair would think were he to kno—"

  
She silences him with her mouth: a rough, possessive kiss with enough insistence behind it that it presses his head flush with the wall. Much as she expected, he meets her with enthusiasm equal, if not greater, to her own whilst his hands clutch greedily at her hips, protesting only when she makes to pull away. It is a challenge, but Revka manages to fight back against the chuckle which builds in her throat when he moves to chase after her lips, brow furrowing with his frustration when her hand against his chest holds him back.

  
"You’ll find out for yourself if you can’t manage to keep quiet," she says with a valiant attempt at her usual sternness, though she cannot help calling her own bluff when the corner of her mouth quirks. "Unless you _want_ someone to hear us and come looking.” 

  
"Hmm, a tempting proposi— _ahh_ …” 

  
This time it is her hand that stops his train of thought, slipping down the front of his tunic to cup him through the laces of his breeches. Posture turned stiff as the stone at his back, his eyes snap shut while he draws in a short breath through his nose. It’s let out again moments later as a hiss, his head tipping forward and grip digging into satin and skin alike when her fingers shift and press more firmly against him. She knows the exact moment her attentions begin to take the desired effect, smirk growing all the more blatant when she feels his cock begin to harden against her palm. This time she does not keep herself from chuckling, the sound and lingering kiss she presses to the underside of his jaw sending a most satisfying shiver through the whole of his body.

  
"Well what do you know." Her voice is muffled against his skin as she speaks, chest now brushing against his while the fingers of her free hand run themselves along the shell of his ear. "It _is_ possible to make you stop talking. A Maker-damned miracle if I ever saw one.”

  
"A most phenomenal victory," he says, words coming out husky as he opens darkened eyes, the barest glint of amber lining wide-blown pupils. There is a smirk twisting his own mouth now, one of the hands at her hips slipping back to paw at her rear and feeding the heat already growing between her legs. "One which deserves a proper reward, would you agree?"

  
For a moment she pretends to consider the suggestion, one finger pressing to her mouth as she pulls back far enough to admire the ruddy flush tinging the sides of his neck and spreading across his cheeks. “Not quite yet,” she says eventually, leaning in close once again and raising up onto the tips of her feet to whisper the next into his ear. “For now I think I’d like to see just how far I can press my luck.”

  
He gives another shaky breath, hair brushing against her nose as he turns to glance in the direction of the closed but decidedly unlocked door mere feet away from their hiding place. It is an advantage she cannot pass up. While he is no doubt distracted by thoughts of just how likely they are to be discovered by a member of the serving staff or some wayward noble in search of a privy she draws the flesh of his ear into her mouth, nibbling at it ever so carefully with the points of her teeth. _That_ earns her a groan, deep-chested and far louder than is wise, though between the pride which blooms in her chest when he then slumps backwards against the wall and her own morbid curiously to know if they might actually manage this without detection, she cannot find it in herself to stop now.

  
"And I would be a fool to prevent you," Zevran says with a shameless smile, the nod he gives her as his grip about her loosens nothing if not encouraging. “Please, by all means do continue with this scheme of yours.”

“All right.”

She pulls the hand at his front away, leaving him without her touch just long enough for her to see the first hint of frustrated confusion cross his face before she returns it, tugging laces and linens loose enough for her to slip her hand fully into his breeches. Another groan, this one kept much quieter than the last, and paired with her own pleased hum as she runs her fingers along skin smooth as silk. His cock is hot to the touch, heavy even now from her teasing alone, and when she drags her fingers up and over the tip she is unsurprised to find it beading. She slides the pad of her thumb through the slick, drawing slow circles around the rim of his head, the full length of him twitching as her other hand moves to free him from the fabric.

Then she is on her knees in front of him, head tilted up in time to see him stare down at her through heavy lidded eyes, lips parted and chest rising with quick-taken breaths. Something warm flares in her chest at the sight of him like this, beautiful and bared before her, and while she does not pause to give consideration to where its sudden appearance has come from, a part of her is well aware that there is more to it than her enjoyment of their hedonistic act.

“Stay quiet now,” she says in uncharacteristic playfulness, her hand wrapping around the full girth of him and giving him a slow, thorough stroke. “I’d hate to be interrupted before I’m finished with you.”

The line of his throat bobs as he swallows back a breath, his blush spreading before her eyes up the edge of his ears. “I make no such promises, _amora._ You’ve always had a wicked tongue, after all.”

She answers his taunting with a kiss to the base of his cock, mouth parted enough to allow her tongue to dart out and slide along the underside of his length. Something too garbled to understand tumbles from his mouth and Revka smiles to herself, her slow progress towards his tip pulling more indistinguishable muttering from him until she eventually reaches it and all too happily wraps her lips around it. 

  
There is no mistaking what he says then, the whispered _braska!_ coming out breathy and at the same time as he slides his fingers into the hair at the back of her head. They flex and pull against the countless pins Leliana had used to hold her elaborate up-do in place, and for a moment Revka entertains herself with picturing the horrified look that would pass over the bard’s face when she saw what had become of her hard work. Then her tongue gives a lazy swirl over the whole of his head to make him buck and she pushes all other thoughts away, no attention to be spared for anything that is not the sound of his heavy breaths or the feel of him in her mouth and hands. 

  
He tastes exquisite as always. Salt, spice and a hint of something decidedly Zevran which she has yet to place but relishes all the same and makes her own arousal peak into a pleasant sort of ache. For the span of an instant she regrets her decision to remain clothed, eager to let herself join in to as great an extent as she can manage. But brave as she may have been to attempt this in the first place, she is certain she would not be able to work up the courage needed to lower her inhibitions _quite_ so far as to honestly enjoy herself. Besides, she thinks as she begins to slip her lips further down his length, Zevran is not the sort of lover who would allow her attentions to go unreciprocated for long. No doubt she would find the both of them in a similar circumstance with their roles reversed soon enough.

Instead she chooses to savor the moment for what it is: the slow slide of lips and tongue over heated skin, each sawing breath and encouraging noise which falls from Zevran’s mouth to her ears, how desperately he clutches at her when they shift to praises of her skill. Once certain her mouth has made him slick enough she pairs its motions with her hands, one gliding in time with each sweep of her tongue over his head and down his cock while the other presses against his base, kneading gently.

Zevran is panting now, hips rocking as he slips into his native tongue. “ _Così buono,_ ” he murmurs, eyes screwing shut and movments now more erratic, frantic. “ _Ci si sente così bene_.”

He is close. Revka can feel it in the way his muscles jump beneath her touch, tremors shaking him from chest to groin to thighs. His grip in her hair tightens just enough to sting, and she cannot help but moan at the pleasure she finds in it, nose pressing into the dusting of blond hair by her thumb as she takes him in as deeply as her throat allows.

It is his undoing. With a snap of his hips he is at his crest, a sharp gasp of air followed by a pulse she feels race along his cock and against her tongue. The first taste of him hits the back of her mouth a moment later and she is all too eager to drink him down, the hand at his base moved to clutch at his rear to keep him from pulling too far away, unwilling to waste a single, bitter-sweet drop. She strokes him in time with each throb, drawing out his peak as long as she is able and then easing him through the aftershocks with a soothing, gentle touch.

Once his breath begins to slow and his fingers loosen from her hair she pulls herself back to sit on her heels, smiling as she makes quick work of slipping him back into his breeches and fastening the tie in place. She is pulled to her feet and against his chest seconds later, strong arms wrapping about her waist and Zevran’s mouth crashing eagerly into hers.

“It seems my _amora_ has learned a few new tricks,” he says coyly, eyes bright and face still flushed when he pulls back to offer her a grin.

She laughs at that, hands coming up to cup at the back of his neck, another quick kiss pressed to the corner of his mouth. “What can I say? I’ve had a brilliant teacher, after all. Now come on, then. Let’s get out of here before some scullery maid finds us and I can’t show my face in public for a month.”

 


End file.
